It’s hard to believe it’s been two months since the last post. I kept expecting that, any day now, something nasty was going to happen to write about, and every day slid slowly into the past with no disaster to mark it.
On the plus side, the lady at the local Petco who has groomed Dawg for years insisted on coming to our house to groom him, once I explained that I couldn’t trust him in public anymore. She’s due any minute, in fact, for his second monthly visit. The first visit went swimmingly, as us old folks say. I insisted that the muzzle stay on all during the bath and the haircut (she just worked around it), but Dawg acted like a “nice doggy” the whole time. Now she, of course, thinks I’m overreacting, but she’s being nice about it.
One of the reasons I expected a disaster “any day now” was because my wife, saint that she is, can not (or will not) do things that go against her basic belief system. Raised as a Catholic and spoon fed Disney movies, she believes that every person (well, except for her husband), every animal, even every insect is an angel and would never do anything non-Disney-like. Except for fire ants. Down here in the South, fire ants have taken over every spare inch of ground, and they all are apparently born with a specific taste for her flesh. When she steps outside, they know she’s around and within minutes will be swarming all over her feet and legs. She has to keep moving because fire ants come from miles around just to bite her. She really hates fire ants. Well, as much as she could possibly “hate” anything.
Anyway, after the initial shock of Dawg’s biting incident wore off, she decided that Dawg would never bite anyone, so if he did, and she’s not certain that he did, but if he did, it was just that one time and he had a good reason, and he doesn’t deserve to be muzzled for it. This is the lady that also refused to believe that Dawg would suddenly, out of the blue, lunge at something. And if I insisted that he did it when I walked him, well, either I did something wrong (her preferred belief) or he had a reason. She continued to believe that right up to the moment that he took her off her feet and drug her along the concrete — twice in as many weeks. At that point she wanted to beat him to death, and insisted that we get a short leash for him.
Two weeks later her “road rash” was healing nicely and she decided it was her fault, since Dawg would never do anything like that, and insisted that we use the long leash again. So, to shorten the story and get right to the point, after the biting incident, I figured that, any day now, although we’d discussed it endlessly, she’d simply stop using the muzzle and go back to using the long leash…again. So I watched and waited.
Sure enough, about two weeks in, I caught her going out the door at 4:30 pm to walk Dawg and he wasn’t wearing his muzzle. I stopped her and we “discussed” it again, and I mentioned that at 4:30 pm all the local kids were hopping off school buses in our neighborhood and running ever which way (anything running really triggers the herding instinct in Dawg). By the time we were through talking, I was pretty sure she’d never talk to me again, but she swore she’d put the muzzle on him from now on.
Then a month after that I saw her digging through the “extra dog stuff” box where we keep, well, extra dog stuff. I asked what she was looking for and she said, and I quote, “the long leash”. I told her she’d have to look in our long-term storage facility (something she’ll never do because “storage” is like Fibber Magee’s closet, only bigger) and the matter dropped for now. But any day now she’s going to come back from Petsco or Pestsmart with a long leash, and I’m not sure just how that conversation is going to end. Probably with me sleeping in the yard, if the past truly is prologue. At least I’ll have the fire ants for company.